


This Dance We Do

by wendyindahouse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (no dean x others though), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean, First Kiss, Internal Monologue, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1468975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendyindahouse/pseuds/wendyindahouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is hurt on a hunt and Cas steps in to save him.  Dean has been dancing around his feelings for Cas for years, fought to suppress them for myriad reasons, but suddenly it all seems like too much...</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Dance We Do

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt over on tumblr: 
> 
>  
> 
> _I have a mighty need for some destiel in which things are show canon and Dean has thought about being with guys and is totally bisexual but has never acted on it. But now he and Cas are definitely about to get it on and I would LOVE to read all about Dean’s thoughts and feelings about how it is finally happening and how he is dying to kiss Cas like he always wanted. To feel Cas’ lips. And oh god please give it to me!_
> 
>  
> 
> ([my tumblr](http://poorbeautifuldean.tumblr.com))

He opens his eyes slowly, attempting to ignore the pain shooting through his temple, and the first thing he sees is the ocean.  The ocean blinks, and his brow furrows in confusion as it take a moment or two for his fuzzy brain to catch up.  Cas.

Cas is crouching in front of him, concern etched on his face as he reaches out a hand to Dean’s face.  And then the pain is gone, eclipsed by the soothing warmth of Cas’ grace, and the added charge that is just proximity to Cas.

He’s past denying it now, isn’t even sure anymore why he tried to lie to himself for so long.  It never really worked, merely stoking a low-level burn in his gut that still flares to life whenever Cas is around.  A flicker that becomes a raging fire of want and longing every time Cas stands slightly too close, places a hand on his shoulder in reassurance, gazes at him, unblinking, as though he can see into the very depths of his soul.

Perhaps he can.  Dean has suspected for a while now that the Angel can read every thought that flows through his mind: every flash of desire, every hope of mutual feeling, every fear of rejection.

As if on cue, Cas’ eyes darken slightly, but he remains still, kneeling in front of Dean on the hard, stone floor.  Dean glances anxiously beyond him, suddenly reminded of why he’s here in the first place, but slumps back against the wall in relief when he sees that the room is empty beyond the two of them.

“They’re gone” Cas states, his voice low and rough.  “Sam must have got to the bones in time and burned them.  That is why you were here by yourself, I assume?”

Dean merely nods, a wave of exhaustion settling like a lead weight in his bones and he lets his eyes fall closed.

“You should have called me, Dean.  I could have helped” Cas chides, soft yet stern.

“You’re busy Cas, you have your own stuff to worry about” Dean protests weakly, deciding not to lend voice to the fact that he spends pretty much every minute of every day talking himself out of calling Cas, or how it has become second nature to supress the need; how it is just one more thing that adds to the dull ache in his chest every time he thinks of Cas.   _Only_  Cas.

He came to terms long ago with the fact that he’s attracted to men as well as women, catching himself checking them out one too many times to pretend it could be anything else.  Sometimes he’s nursing a beer, only to find himself watching the bartender polishing glasses for long minutes at a time, entranced by strong hands and the play of muscles, idly wondering how they would feel on his body.  Sometimes he’s hustling pool, smug and cocky as always, and finds himself checking out his opponent’s ass as he bends over to take a shot, a tell-tale tightening in his own jeans betraying his thoughts. 

He catches the glances thrown his way by lonely truckers in dingy diners, knows what they mean - has even entertained the thought of it - but has never gone through with it.  Something has always held him back: fear of his father’s reaction, of Sammy’s; fear of the unknown.  Until now, until Cas, when none of that seems to matter.

It carries a certain weight of expectancy, the two of them and this perpetual dance they do.  An inevitability, as though the outcome was decided long ago and ultimately they are just struggling to swim against the tide with every day they spend resisting it.  It certainly feels that way to Dean, and really, even after everything, what does he know of fate and the destinies of men?  Who is he to say that it is not?

He continues to resist though, to try and avoid the unavoidable, because of Cas.  Because he is certain that Cas deserves better; deserves someone good, someone who isn’t broken, who hasn’t done the things Dean has done. 

He is human though, he is weak, and he allows himself to indulge in thoughts of what it could be like if he let himself have this, if he gave in to the want, the desire, the  _need_. 

He imagines what it would be like to run his hands over the hard, muscled planes of Cas’ body, so different to the gentle curves he has felt before. 

He pictures tangling his fingers in Cas’ hair, so wild, so much shorter than what he is used to, and how it would feel to press his lips to Cas’ dry, chapped ones, to those lips that are so soft and warm and responsive in his imagination.

He envisions feeling the scratch of stubble against his jaw for the first time and what it would be like to pull Cas tightly against him, to grind their hips together and to feel an answering hardness pressed up against his own. 

He wonders what it would be like to let Cas inside, for Cas fill him the way he fills his heart, for Cas to make love to him. 

Love.  Such a small word, but one which carries so much weight.  And he does love Cas - loves him with every bruised, battered fibre of his ravaged soul.  He has danced around it for such a long time, just as he has danced around the man himself - dances still - but it is yet another inevitability and suddenly he is too tired of fighting it; wants nothing more than to give in and to surrender to its pull, however selfish.

“Cas… I want…” he whispers, uncertain, his voice hoarse as it spills into the heavy silence of the room.

“What do you want Dean?”

Dean’s eyes fly open at the quiet desperation in Cas’ tone, finding those intense blue eyes focused on him, filled with what looks like desire and hope. 

Cas licks his lips and Dean’s eyes are drawn to his mouth, to those lips he has spent so long thinking about.  Unconsciously, his tongue flickers out to moisten his own and Cas leans in closer, his breath hot against Dean’s cheek.

“What do you want, Dean” he asks again, but there are no words anymore, only the want, and Dean surges forward to press his lips against Cas’ mouth. 

His hand reaches out to cradle the back of Cas’ neck, thumb pressed against the angle of his jaw and fingers spreading into his hair.  Cas’ lips are like fire and he cannot stop the whimper that escapes him at finally getting what he has wanted for so long. 

He feels firm fingers settle on his hip as Cas’ lips soften against his own and he feels the scrape of Cas’ teeth over his bottom lip.  He shivers as Cas lifts a hand to his face, long fingers stroking across his cheek, and he leans into the touch.  Cas moves to kiss the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his cheek, his temple, and Dean revels in the soft scrape of stubble against his skin as his hand drifts over Cas shoulder and down to his chest, the muscles taut and smooth beneath his palm.

Cas’ lips trail back to his, parted, hot and wet as they reclaim his mouth.  This kiss is bolder, deeper than before, more passionate, and Dean feels a corresponding strength coiled deep within Cas.  A strength that speaks of conviction and rightness, and that sends a thrill through him at the promise of what is to come; the promise of everything he imagined and at the same time, so much more. 


End file.
